


Waterfalls Coming Out Your Mouth

by eneli



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Absolutely no smut, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Childhood Friends, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, For reasons, I haven’t decided yet, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Moving In Together, Mystery, No Way, Reconciliation, Sad Ending, Shady Business, Violence, dream is known as clay in this, george has secret job ooooo, george has secrets, i don’t ship them irl, i have no beta lmao sorry, it starts off quite rocky lmao, maybe? - Freeform, nope - Freeform, suspicious jobs, this is more for writing practise lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28901847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eneli/pseuds/eneli
Summary: Clay: hey george you have a spare room right?George’s thumb hovers over the notification. He glances from the kitchen, into the hallway, where he knows the guest room is. He returns his gaze to his phone. What is he playing at? George wants to say no.It’s been seven years.George: Not even a hello?orIn an unforeseen turn of events, George lets his old childhood best friend, Clay, move in with him temporarily. But things have changed, George isn't the same as he was - and he wants nothing to do with Clay. Or so he says. Meanwhile, Clay may have changed too.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 55





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thought i'd try to get into writing again. Not sure how long this fic will be, but probably no more than 10 chapters. It's based around the song "Waterfalls coming out your mouth" by Glass Animals. I basically fell in love with this song like 2 months ago, and the lyrics are so interesting??? so yeah lets see how this goes lmao. This is the prologue so the actual chapters will be longer and not as vague

Clay: hey george you have a spare room right?

George’s thumb hovers over the notification. He glances from the kitchen, into the hallway, where he knows the guest room is. He returns his gaze to his phone. _What is he playing at?_ George wants to say no. 

It’s been seven years. 

George: Not even a hello? 

George: No i’ve moved house 

He watches three bubbles appear and then disappear. They appear again. George leans back against his kitchen counter, back digging into the cold metal. Distantly, he hears the pitter patter, drip, drop of rain. 

Clay: sorry i know its short notice 

Clay: please

George closes his eyes, clicking the side of his phone and sliding it across the counter. He listens to the rain. He’s not falling for this. He refuses to aid whatever this is. It’s been seven years. 

He opens his eyes and rests them on the black screen. There’s a draft seeping in through the balcony doors. They never shut properly. George sighs, making his way into the living room and makes swift work of drawing the curtains closed. 

His phone buzzes. Then again. 

George grabs it, grip tight. 

Clay: george i know ur angry

Clay: but please 

Clay: gogy?

George hisses through his teeth. He clicks on the contact, hovers over the ‘block contact’ button. His screen lights up, the ring tone blaring obnoxiously. His eyebrow twitches. 

Sighing, he slides the phone up to his ear. 

“Phil?” 

“Hey 404, sorry about this, so late and all,” Phil says, despite them both knowing George doesn’t sleep until the early hours of the morning, if at all. 

“Get to the point please,” He runs a hand through his hair. 

Phil clears his throat, “Right, so, new job. Short notice of course, but I know you’ll like it. Time span around three weeks give or take, but given it’s you, I’ll bet two weeks at most. Good pay.”

“Catch?”

“Long distance, two hours away.”

George hums. He could do it. But he dislikes leaving his house unsupervised. He can’t afford a new accommodation every time. 

“I’ll think about and get back to you.”

“Alright mate, but there’s a short window.”

There’s a beep and then silence. George sighs. He brings the phone from his ear and looks at his screen. _This is too easy, and yet so unpleasant._ George clicks off the contact, going back to the messages. He taps the call button.

It rings once before answering.

“George,” There’s breathless relief in his voice; as though he’s parched and George is a merciful hurricane. He glances at the curtains as the rain continues to pour. He wonders if it’s raining in Florida.

“You’ve really ran out of luck huh?” George muses, an asshole because he can. Because he deserves to be. 

There’s a chuckle, amused and distant at once. “You have no idea.”

For some reason, that makes his jaw click, teeth grit. “This is conditional, you understand? Under my terms, _Clay._ ”

He doesn’t want to do this. He really doesn’t want to do this. But he knows better than to cross off an opportunity over personal discomfort. He needs someone to watch the apartment. 

“Loud and clear, sir,” The tone is playful yet George can feel the bite. He closes his eyes and tries not to lose himself. 

“Clay, I don’t care who we used to be to each other,” He starts, shifting his weight onto one leg and letting his head tip upwards to stare at the ceiling. “I don’t care who you used to be. I don’t care who I used to be.” He pauses, opens his eyes and stares straight ahead at the drawn curtains where the rain is surely still pelting insistently; but George can’t hear it over the buzz in his ears, and he certainly can’t see it.

“And I don’t give a fuck who you are now.”


	2. You taste like surfing videos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drip drop
> 
> Gimme what you got
> 
> Your talk
> 
> Is incredible
> 
> So, so, so unusual
> 
> You taste like surfing videos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy i'm back :) 
> 
> hope u enjoy or smth lmao
> 
> sorry for typos, if u see any just point them out to me and i'll sort it <3

It’s still raining when Clay arrives. It’s been raining for weeks on end. George is sick of the rain. The dewy smell that lingers on the concrete hours after the clouds have left make his nose twitch in annoyance, bringing along the urge to sneeze. It’s annoying. 

This is annoying.

It’s raining now. Drips and drops of water pelt off against his umbrella; which is a suitable black to fit the mood. He’s meeting Clay, this isn’t a celebration, more of a funeral if he’s honest with himself. The foreboding of a series of unfortunate events. George can’t imagine that this experience will be pleasant - not even in his wildest dreams. He doesn’t want to enjoy Clay’s company

He shifts his feet uncomfortably, trying to avoid getting caught in the streamlines of people. The incessant chatter grates on his ears and he almost wishes he bought earphones. Almost. 

It’s not wise to block out one of the senses. 

His phone vibrates in his back pocket of his jeans, George slips a damp hand behind him and awkwardly shuffles it out. The screen instantly gets sprayed by droplets despite the umbrella. ‘Clay’ stands out brightly in the middle of the screen, accompanied by a blank contact picture. George tries to slide to answer it, but his thumb slips along it uselessly.

With an irritated huff, he rubs his phone against his jacket, partially drying it before answering the call.

“Clay,” he mutters. He hears a whistle and clenches his jaw.

“Jeez, someone is upset,” Clay laughs, “I thought you were going to ignore me for a moment there.”

George scans the crowd idly, “why would I do that? That defeats the purpose of picking you up doesn’t it?” He wants to roll his eyes. So he does.

The line is silent for several seconds before he hears a sigh, “well you haven’t really been - y’know, I don’t - I-” Clay stumbles. George stays silent, waits for him to finish what he’s saying before it becomes clear that he’s not continuing.

“I have no idea what you are on about,” that gets a huff of amusement, “but frankly, I don’t care. Where are you?”

“Um,” there’s a pause, “I’m gonna be honest here,” George openly scoffs at that, to which Clay ignores either out of politeness or indifference. “I’m kind of… lost. I’m lost, everything looks the same here in London.”

George can hear the whine in his voice. He has to steady himself, keep himself in the present instead of drifting. Clay sounds the same. George tilts his head aggressively to the side in an attempt to shut off his thoughts, mouth scowling. 

“You’re an idiot,” he states harshly, purposefully hardening his tone until it’s sharp and biting, He wants it to sting, to cut deeply. 

“Hey, no need to be mean, I'm a foreigner,” Clay grumbles, tone unreadable. 

“What do you see around you?” George asks briskly, starting to feel impatient. 

He hears shuffling and then a hum, “uh, there’s cars. Wait sorry that’s stupid, there’s loads of shops. And a bus station, woah that bus is huge. Sorry, there’s a sign that says ‘King’s Cross’?” George finds the corner of his mouth twitching before he stubbornly sets it straight.

“You’re at King’s Cross?” He resists the urge to question why Clay didn’t just start with that, but he doesn’t want to draw out the conversation anymore than necessary. “I’ll be there in five, just stay put.”

“Okay, than-” George hangs up abruptly and takes a deep breath. He can do this. He slips his phone back into his pocket and hoists up the umbrella that has begun to droop. He straightens out his shoulders and starts to walk.

  
  
  
  
  


He finds Clay standing underneath the alcove of the King’s Cross train station; he’s staring at the streets in terribly disguised awe, green eyes wide and searching. George can see where he gets distracted, lingering on the lights of a department store for slightly too long before snapping back into awareness. He watches the way his fingers drum against the lamppost beside him, a steady rhythm that almost matches the drip drop of the rain. George forces himself to grimace. 

Clay’s wearing a stupid hoodie that’s way too big for him, sleeves bunched up uselessly - but that’s not what irritates him; no, he narrows his eyes in displeasure at the unsightly colour - a piss yellow. It’s clear that the man has no fashion sense. His lips curl as he takes in Clay, eyes raking over his lanky form from top to bottom. He looks young, eyes wide. He’s youthful, stuck in the limbo of teenagehood despite being a foot taller than George and twenty-one years old. He can see the way baby fat clings to his cheeks, freckles dotted unevenly - like a child got a hold of a marker and clumsily tried to replicate the stars. 

George can’t do this.

Clay doesn’t notice George until he’s only a few feet away. George unfortunately has to witness the way the other man’s eyes light up, the way his mouth twitches into a nervous smile. George lets his face slip into a neutral look of assholery. He makes sure to look as disinterested as possible. 

“Clay,” he starts voice tight, ready to break down any ideas of friendliness that the other boy has thought up.

He’s bemused to see that it does not deter Clay in the slightest as he speed walks over to the man and throws his arms around him. George freezes, limbs locking at the sensation. Clay awkwardly fits his head underneath the umbrella to squeeze him tighter. His hands are large and clumsy, slipping over George’s waist, slim fingers digging into his jacket. They stumble a little as Clay buries his face on the top of the other man's head, damp strands sticking to his cheek. 

George’s face is pressed into the other’s neck, nose pushed up against the juncture between his collarbone and Adam's apple. He breathes in.

He is overloaded by the smell of seawater. It suffocates him, the saltiness clogs up his nostrils and leaves him gasping for air. George closes his eyes and reopens them to a honeyed sunset, hues of yellows dipping into soft oranges - it’s all blurred and smooth, soft to touch and warm. The sea glistens, waves moving slowly, slowly, slowly. He can hear them swish, leisurely climbing over each other to reach the shore. He looks down at the sand beneath his feet, soft and crunching, threatening to sink in and drag him down - bury him.

_ “George.” _

“George,” He sucks in breath, salty and cloying before forcing his eyelids open. The drip drop of the rain thuds against his umbrella, so incredibly loud. The dewy smell comes back full force and George has to take a moment to refocus. 

He’s still in Clay’s arms. George unlocks his limbs and takes a harsh step backwards, Clay letting out a yelp as he is unbalanced, arms loosening their hold until George can step out. 

George averts his eyes, looking down at the pavement. “I told you, we’re not like that anymore,” he murmurs, his voice a whisper against the overwhelming chatter that surrounds them. 

And yet, Clay hears it perfectly, clear in the way his expression falters - eyes dulling into a muddy hazel before he blinks and smiles. It unsettles George, as though Clay had mismatched his emotions, a relieved smile disturbed by defeated eyes.

He clenches and unclenches his fists to stabilize himself, feeling the world sway around him. The lines between reality and daydream blurring once again, the pouring rain merging into rippling waves.

“Yeah,” Clay agrees without a rebuttal. Somehow that makes George’s lips downturn more than any other response. 

George sighs, the world realigns itself, “let’s go then.”

He tries to ignore the way Clay had carried Florida with him like a souvenir in his pocket . He tries to ignore his scent, that lingers and overpowers the rain. He tries to ignore the way he doesn’t feel himself in London at all anymore; the way he is miles and miles away, in the sea with surfboard in hand, saltwater threatening to drown him. 

He can taste the salt - as he inevitably tips off the board and is lost to the waves - on his tongue.

  
  
  


“You’re staying in here,” George says, throwing open the guest room door without looking at the other man. He hears a hum of acknowledgement and decides that’s good enough. 

Without waiting to hear if the other has any questions, he’s already turning away. “I’m gonna go take a nap, I’m going out later. There’s food in the fridge, don’t touch the Monsters.”

He can hear the start of protests but he ignores it in turn for the sweet promise of sleep. George is under the covers before he knows it, buried well underneath. He shuts his eyes in determination. He will go to sleep. 

This is normally something he doesn’t have to think about, sleep comes naturally to him. George can sleep any and everywhere for hours on end and yet, here he’s stuck. Stuck in his thoughts. The one place he hates the most. He groans. 

He can hear the clatter of Clay opening cupboards, presumably looking for dishes to use. George shifts onto his back, covers still over his head. He listens closely, imagines Clay’s mannerisms as he hears him hum a tune softly. He used to sing. He remembers him singing. His voice was childlike then, cracking in places and yet George would  _ beg  _ to hear him again and again. He was shy - wouldn’t sing for anyone but George. Has he sung since then? To other people no less? The thought irks him, a deep grating itch in his mind. 

George imagines Clay singing for no one else, despite all those years. Selfishly he clings to the thought and feels burning hot warmth thrum in his chest. He curls in on himself, feeling too warm clutching the covers tighter, squeezing out the last bits of oxygen until he’s suffocating. 

He listens to Clay hum and feel himself drift off unbearably slow, it feels like a punishment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyy
> 
> thank you so much for the kudos, comments and bookmarks <333 they mean a lot to me. I can't believe i'm nearly at 100 hits already :D
> 
> this chapter isn't as long as i wanted, but i didnt want to drag it out too much so this is what i got. today's a good day, we're getting a quackity and dream stream plus an awesamdude face reveal + hair dye stream, as well as some more tales of the smp. i'm gonna be up till late lmao. Have i done anything productive other than write fics? no. do i have art coursework which i am several weeks behind on to do? yes. do i have any plans to do it? idk. am i panicking deep down? yes holy shit
> 
> anyways, hope u enjoyed :) loads of grumpy george this chapter lmao. i feel sorry for dream lmao. next chapter should be longer. i dont really have a schedule, but im writing like 2 or 3 other stories at the moment so it might take a while
> 
> ok bye :)

**Author's Note:**

> george seems very hostile and thats because he is :D


End file.
